Underneath the Flames
by hugglesbunny
Summary: AU slightly OOC : Fulton is the school recluse, Dean's the new kid (who doesn't play hockey) slash (obviously) some drug use
1. Lost in a Contraption

Underneath the Flames

Chapter 1: Lost In A Contraption

"Hi, my name's Dean Portman. Umm, I just transfered here from Santa Teresa high school in California to play lacrosse." I grin easily, thinking to myself how much I hate this "tell us a little about yourself" introductory crap, and continue. "I'm 17, I snowboard and I like moonlit strolls on the beach and candle lit dinners." Several girls giggle to eachother and begin whispering and the teacher gives me an exasperated look. He raises an eyebrow and motions towards a seat near the back.

"Thank you, Mr. Portman. Welcome to Eden Hall. Please take your seat next to David." He continues to talk as I move to my seat and nod at David.

"Hey."

"Hey man, how do you like Eden Hall so far?"

"It seems ok. This is only my second class but..." I shrug.

"Yeah, well Dean, if you need anything..."

"Call me Portman."

Mr. K. shoots us a shut-up glare and we quickly do our best to look innocent. The bell rings 40 minutes later and I follow David outside. As he shows me around more of the campus he explains the Eden Hall tradition, which is basically dominating any sport they decide they want to. "Winning is everything here, but at the same time, it's expected, so it's no big deal if you actually do."

This becomes apparent over the next week I'm there. This school may be the most competetive place I've ever seen.

It's a rainy Wednesday, and I've been at Eden Hall 8 days. I leave David and his friends early and swing by my locker to grab some of my stuff. As I head towards English I see David heading in the opposite direction. He yells that he'll be a bit late and I shrug, not wanting to bother him. I come in out of the rain and sit down at my desk in English and glance around curiously. It seems more crowded today, My stuff is soaked and I'm pretty sure I have water dripping off my nose. It seems like any other day, waiting for David to show up, when I see...HIM.

He's standing in front of the door, rain pouring behind him. He has black hair hanging around a pale face and when he looks up I see a pair of pale blue eyes. He looks around the classroom and when he sees all the desks are taken he moves to the corner and leans up against the wall. I watch as he puts on a pair of headphones, pulls his hood back up and, as far as I can tell, falls asleep. The lights flicker and I glance up as they go out. This snaps me out of my reverie and I look around the room. Kids are piling into the room, anxious to get out of the rain and I see David come running in followed by Mr. K. and another teacher. I'm still vaguely shellshocked and I snap to attention when Mr. K. bangs on his desk and says "In case you didn't notice the power is out. Mr. Dunn's classroom is leaking so they will be spending the period in here. Please keep it to a dull roar." He goes back to talking with the other teacher (I assume Mr. Dunn) and just as I am about to go back to sneaking glances at Boy in Corner, David kicks out the kid who stole his desk and sits down.

"Hey man, how's it hanging?"

"Pretty good. Lacrosse is brutal though. Johnson's a slave driver. I'll be out running drills in this rain."

"That sucks," he says cheerily, "How's school otherwise?"

"Pretty good. Hey, who's that?" I ask motioning towards Boy in Corner.

"Oh god, that's Fulton Reed. They brought him here on a hockey scholarship. Nobody knows much about him. He's the big enforcer, only time we see him is on the ice and when he bothers to show up to class. He sent a kid from Blake to the hospital 3 games ago."

"How?"

"Checked him into the boards. Poor kid was leveled, never knew what hit him. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

"Why?"

"He's on drugs, a murderer, completely psycho, take your pick. Any one of them is true according to rumors. At the least it'll make you unpopular."

"I heard he's a coke addict... They say he's related to some hardcore drug ringleader or something," adds the blonde cheerleader sitting on my other side, Candy or something. I turn this information over in my head as I continue to stare at him.

The rest of the class passes quickly and I find myself following David to his locker and then to the Cafeteria. It's here where I see him again.

I'm sitting next to David and the blonde cheerleader from English blowing bubbles into my milk when I see him go walking by the window. He doesn't seem to care that it's still dumping down rain and he has a cigarette in his mouth that, despite the heavy rain, is somehow staying lit. I watch as he passes Dean Buckley and, to my shock, Dean Buckley simply turns his head and pretends not to see this very flagrant disregard for school rules. David must see my look of shock because he says, "Yeah, being the only enforcer has it's perks. They basically let him do whatever he wants. Getting him in trouble would mean him not playing and with the other enforcer hurt... Eden Hall is obsessed with winning."

This is just something I'm throwing out there. Not sure if I'm going to continue it unless people say they like it. So yeah let me know what you think.

A/N - All the chapter titles are song names. umm the story name is an h20 song and chapter 1 is a cky song. sometimes itll be the name of the song and sometimes the actual content will have to do with the chapter.

Disclaimer: I dont own the mighty ducks. They would not have been fit for Disney if i had...

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	2. Hanging Around

Usual disclaimers, blah blah blah, all the usual crap…

* * *

"RING"

What in the hell is that?

"RING"

That is not right. It's _Saturday_.

"RING"

I also don't own a phone, yet one is ringing quite insistently near my ear. I stick my head out of the blankets and glance around groggily, trying to find the source of my rude awakening. After blinking several times, I finally notice the phone that's discreetly tucked next to my nightstand. Since it's stopped ringing, however, I no longer care. With a relieved sigh I pull the covers back over my head and snuggle into my pillow.

"RING"

What the—

"Hello?"

"Ah, Mr. Portman, you're awake. Good."

"Whoz is?" I groan softly and try to wake up more.

"This is Mrs. Haver, your guidance counselor."

My guidance counselor? Who needs guidance on a Saturday morning, particularly when I don't have lacrosse until the game tonight?

"What's go'n on?"

I can almost hear her frown at my sleep slurred words but she continues anyway.

"It is time, Mr. Portman, for you to head down to the office and select your weekend activities."

"Huh?"

"Here at Eden Hall we like to encourage our students to use all of their time productively. Today is your last day to inform us of your choice for weekend activities." She pauses and her tone becomes more disapproving. "We sent out a memo."

I yawn again and roll my eyes. "I have lacrosse every Saturday."

"I know Mr. Portman, but that leaves your Sundays wide open."

This is unbelievable. I want to sleep on Sundays, like normal people.

"Uhhhgh…"

"I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Mr. Portman."

And she hangs up, leaving me no chance to plead for my sanity.

After laying in bed for much longer than I should, I throw off my covers and give myself a scrutinizing look in the mirror; baggy black shorts, faded black Nirvana t-shirt, short hair so I never have to brush it, and a bruise starting to show on my cheekbone.

Well… since I look great there's no need to change a thing.

I grab a pair of shoes and slip them on before grabbing my dorm key and heading out the door. Glancing at my watch I break into a jog, since I have no doubt that I will pay dearly if I exceed the fifteen minutes. The doors to the student counseling center swing open as I approach and Mrs. Haver looks up expectantly.

"Good, Mr. Portman." She shuffles a huge stack of papers and ignores my yawn. "I have some options here that I thought you might want to look over." I sit dutifully at the desk and she hands me a huge stack of papers, the top of which says 'Song and Dance Club!!'

I sigh and glance it over for a millisecond then set it aside, ready to move on to the next. She grabs the paper and looks it over, frowning.

"What's wrong with this one?" I glare as she continues. "I saw your performance at that lacrosse game. Ahem!" She clears her throat violently, and I do _not_ like the way she's eyeing me. "I think a dance club would be a perfect outlet for some energy."

I give her a serious look. "I don't do anything that has more than one exclamation point in the name."

She humphs and starts shuffling through the fliers. "Well…"

"Do you have a meditation club?"

"No."

I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. "I'm interested in learning to center myself."

"That's nice Mr. Portman, but you already seem very centered _around_ yourself, so I don't think Eden Hall should encourage that."

I stare at her, a newfound respect for the old lady running through me. I am not used to little old red-headed teachers making comments like that, let alone at my expense.

"Now, if you would just find some club that you can sign up for and then never show up, my job here will be done."

I give her a hesitant smile, unsure if it's too late to be nice and am glad when she returns it. This time I'm serious about it, looking through the fliers in the hopes that there's at least one group that I'll be semi interested in, or one that I'll be able to sleep through without complaint.

Thirty-five minutes later, we've exhausted two binders' worth of flyers and Mrs. Haver is on her third mug of coffee.

"Fencing club?"

"Coach will kill me if I get stabbed. Besides, I heard one leg gets bigger than the other from standing so weird. I don't want to be lopsided."

She rolls her eyes and shoves another bright piece of paper in my face.

"Equestrian Club?"

I wince at the thought of bouncing around in a saddle and she gives me an understanding look.

"Right… How about Pilates?"

"Do you have anything that involves cars?"

"No."

"What about

"How about this?"

She looks up, her eyes focusing on the piece of paper in my hand.

"You want to join the Chess Club?"

"Sure. It's easy, I won't get stabbed and I'll be the best looking guy in the room."

Her expression is torn between disapproval at my statement and relief that I've finally picked something.

"You know what? That's fine. It starts tomorrow. Do you know where the AV room is?"

I shake my head. "I'm sure I can find it."

"Nonsense; I'll have my aide show you where it is. Mr. Reed!"

And then _he_ comes walking out from her office, a sullen look on his face and I gape. She apparently has some sort of power over anti social, hulking jocks, since we all seem to obey her every command. He doesn't even glance at me, just raises his eyebrows at the guidance counselor.

"Yeah, Haves?"

"Fulton, what have I told you about calling me Haves… My last name is Hav-ER." She glares, though there's little anger behind it. "Get it right."

He gives her a small smile. "Whatever you say, Haves."

She ignores this, turning toward me and motioning with her hand. "Dean here needs to know where the Chess Club meets. Be a dear and show him."

He jerks his head in what I assume is an agreeing manner and walks out of the small office, leaving me to rush after him.

He looks up and raises his eyebrows. "So, _Dean,_ Chess Club, huh?"

I nod. "Yup."

'"So what do you do for fun around here?"

He gives me a scrutinizing look and motions toward a nearby group of students. "What do _they_ do for fun around here, or what do _I _do?"

I glance at the group of football players then look back at Fulton.

"I want to know what _you_ do."

* * *

AN: Unfortunately, I promise nothing with this story. I found this on my computer and liked it enough to finish it, but inspiration has been low lately. Sorry…


	3. He'll be a Friend

"So, why chess club?"

Wisps of smoke curl out of the corners of his mouth and he tries to hold them in while still grinning at me. I take a huge hit of the joint that he's offering me and shrug.

"I figured there was no chance that any of the jocks would be there." I blow a perfect smoke ring at him and add, "Besides, I used to play with my grandma and it was alright. Better than Song and Dance club."

I hand the joint back to him and blow one more smoke ring at him.

"Show off…"

I give him a shocked look. "You can't do that?"

He glares at me and I grin charmingly.

"It's all in the throat."

A slow smirk stretches across his face and he says, almost like he can't help it, "That's what she said."

We both erupt into a fit of laughter and I struggle to control my breathing as he hands me the joint back. I finally calm down enough to take a hit as he asks, "So why this big aversion to jocks? You're a lacrosse player… You should be captain of the douchebags."

"Just for that…" I exhale the smoke and take another huge hit without handing it to him and he frowns.

"Didn't your mom ever teach you to share?"

"Didn't yours ever teach you not to call people you just met a douchebag?"

He grabs the joint from my fingers and shakes his head.

"I didn't call you a douchebag. I said you _should_ be a douchebag, which implies that you aren't a douchebag, so in reality I just paid you a compliment. You should be flattered, not hogging the weed."

"Yeah, whatever."

In this light his eyes are a subtle blue-grey, and for the briefest moment I'm convinced I must be dreaming. Despite his horrible reputation at this school, the moment I saw him he seemed untouchable, as though he was just visiting from some faraway place. To have him sitting in front of me in the back of the Audio Visual room smoking a joint and trading banter, it feels as though I've known him forever. I somehow return to reality, to find him staring at me expectantly.

"Uh, sorry what?"

He's smirking at my obvious lack of attention.

"I asked if you like hockey."

"Yeah. I went to a couple games back home. There aren't a whole lot of opportunities to play though, not like here."

"You skate?'

"Some. Not enough to play but I can get around the rink without killing myself."

He passes me what is now a roach and grins. "That's good. You should be killing other people, not killing yourself. Why don't you join the hockey club instead of Chess Club?"

"I didn't even know it was an option. I'm pretty sure I looked at _every_ flyer in Haver's office and I do not recall seeing one for hockey."

"That's because it's really only the team. I'm sure once you meet them they'll be fine with it. In fact," He glances at his watch, "My time with Haves is almost over. I'm supposed to head down there right now. You want to come watch us play, maybe skate some laps?"

"Sure."

He stands, his movements oddly fluid for someone his size, and offers me his hand. I reach for it then pull back suddenly as it shocks me. He gives me an odd look as he rubs his hand on his shirt and then offers it back to me. I take it cautiously and he pulls me up effortlessly.

We exit the dark building just as a line of boys carrying chessboards and a boom box are walking toward it. They skirt around us, leaving an almost comical amount of space as they head for the door.

I turn and glare at them and the last one in line makes a small 'eep' noise and almost pushes the boy ahead of him into the building.

"Are they all scared of you?"

Fulton looks back at me questioningly. "Who?"

Did he really not see their unwillingness to even walk by him?

"All the students here."

He shrugs. "I don't even notice anymore. I like to be left alone."

I let the subject drop, since the next logical question is why he tolerates me, after only meeting me a half an hour ago. I'm not sure I'm ready to go there, since I'm not sure I'll like the answer, so instead I follow silently.

We swing by the guidance office to let Mrs. Haver know where I'll be. When Fulton tells her, she raises an eyebrow but is silent, instead just nodding and penciling something onto a piece of paper on her desk.

I follow silently as he leads me down a wide stone path toward a towering black building that he identifies as the sports complex. As we walk inside there's a large sign with arrows pointing to the various courts and such inside; apparently it houses not only the ice rink but an indoor basketball court, Olympic size swimming pool, racquetball court and several indoor tennis courts. He heads left and we walk down a large, brightly lit hallway that is lined with trophies from every sport imaginable; big trophies, the ones they give you when you win championships. There are also photos on the wall of numerous star athletes that began their careers at this school; hall of fame basketball players, Stanley Cup winners, Heisman trophy and Superbowl winners. He doesn't seem phased in the least, not even when we pass a picture of Dean Buckley standing with the entire Minnesota Wild team.

We finally turn at a small sign marked HLR1 and he pushes open the door to reveal a large locker room. There are several other boys already in there changing into hockey gear and a few are lacing up skates and walking through a door marked 'Rink'. Fulton throws his bag down next to an empty space and motions for me to sit.

"What size skates do you wear?"

"Twelve."

He nods and pulls a duffle bag down from the top shelf and begins digging through it, muttering to himself.

"My last pair of skates _should_ fit you. If not I'll see if I can find any in the shop."

He throws a pair of thick socks at me before holding up a pair of worn black skates.

"Try those on and tell me if they fit."

I obey wordlessly, trying to ignore the numerous stares being thrown my way from his teammates. While I pull on the skates, he begins to quickly change into full gear; padded pants, shoulder pads, and brace on his left elbow, and then shrugs into a faded green jersey with a duck on the front. I managed to squeeze into the skates and lace them up, and by the time I'm done he's completely changed and waiting patiently.

"I think they fit."

"Well, they should be snug, but without hurting your toes. Try standing up."

I obey once more and find they fit perfectly. He nods with satisfaction when I tell him this.

"I thought so. Well, let's go introduce you to the team," and he grabs his gloves, stick and helmet and marches toward the door. I follow awkwardly, trying not to break an ankle on the thin blades. We move through the door and he steps gracefully out onto the ice while I stare in amusement. There are pro teams that don't have rinks this nice. The ice is perfectly smooth and there's a professional zambonie parked on the other side of the boards. The scoreboard is dark with a large duck on it, similar to the one of his jersey but in red and white instead of green and white. His teammates are circling the ice, one following after the other and the two goalies are warming up on either side of the ice. The big guy on the far side ignores me but the girl closest to me takes off her goalie mask and gives me a curious look.

Fulton skates over to a pale boy with short brown hair and converses with him for a second before motioning to me. As he turns I see the 'C' on the front of his jersey and realize that he's the captain. He listens to Fulton for a moment longer then smiles and nods and Fulton waves me over. I swallow hard, realizing I'm going to have to skate over there and I suddenly remember how long it's been since I've been on ice skates.

A long time…

I put one foot on the ice tentatively and am thankful when it all comes back to me; shift my weight forward, keep my ankles strong and before I know it I'm moving steadily toward Fulton and the Captain. I manage to stop without falling over and the other boy gives me a smile.

"Hi, I'm Charlie."

"Portman." I shake his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Any friend of Fulton's is a friend of mine."

"All none of them!" A redheaded boy shouts as he goes skating by.

Charlie smirks and looks over his shoulder.

"Shut up Averman!"

"Aye aye, captain!" and the redhead, Averman, salutes him before nearly running into another of his teammates.

"You're more than welcome to skate around until you get used to it. We normally just fool around and play games, or shoot goals. We try to save the real scrimmage for when Coach is watching."

He gives me a friendly smile and I instantly feel more comfortable.

"Sounds good."

Moments later I find out he's not joking. Several of the players are trying to score goals skating backwards, Averman has been trying to learn how to rope from a skinny boy wearing a cowboy hat and the small Asian kid has been doing some fancy figure skating moves in the center of the ice. They hardly look like a championship-winning hockey team. Charlie skates along with Fulton and me, both giving me pointers and encouragement. I've finally found my groove and I've managed to skate several laps without faltering once.

Out on the ice I see a whole different side of Fulton. That one day in class he seemed distant, as though he were a million miles away. Out here he's smiling and laughing with Charlie, joking with me and occasionally he'll skate off to tug one of the girls braids and then take off, leaving them shouting jokingly after him. Throughout the next couple hours I'm introduced to the rest of the team and they all give me the same the look, friendly with a thinly veiled curiosity. I'm beginning to think Averman wasn't entirely joking when he said that Fulton didn't have any friends.

I pause behind the far goal to take a breather and give him another contemplative look.

Why is he so nice to me?

* * *

AN- I know its short but at this point I'm just happy that I'm writing anything… I really want to finish this story, and I think I know where I'm going with it so please, all three readers that I have left, bear with me… He he. Chapter title is a Johnny Cash song.


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